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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971014">the heat where you laid (could stay right here and burn in it all day)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/intextrovert/pseuds/intextrovert'>intextrovert</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tinder AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(what happened is that someone demanded a change of rating), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, also there is a very brief mention of a spider, and an even briefer mention of tinder, there is no plot only fluff, this was supposed to be a drabble I don't know wtf happened, tinder au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:33:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,199</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/intextrovert/pseuds/intextrovert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Héloïse is drunk and chivalrous, Marianne is a human version of a koala, and Sophie gets her beauty sleep all messed up. So it's basically 10k words of shameless fluff.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tinder AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>197</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the heat where you laid (could stay right here and burn in it all day)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/twohundredthousand/gifts">twohundredthousand</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(Also, never mind the actual fic title – which, yes, it’s from a One Direction song – this should be known as Hungover AU or something equally brief (edit: apparently we're calling it Tinder AU now), in honour of twohundredthousand, who dislikes long fic titles with a passion and has patiently yelled with me over this thing in various stages of googledoc.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>First thought:</p><p>“Why are the birds so fucking loud?”</p><p>Second thought:</p><p>“Why am I even awake right now?”</p><p>Third thought:</p><p>“There’s a spider on the ceiling.”</p><p>Fourth thought:</p><p>“This day is at the risk of being lost to a hangover.”</p><p>You can feel it looming, a vague pressure somewhere just behind your temples, not having hit full force yet, and you decide to destroy it with painkillers and a large amount of water as soon as possible. Soon. Ish. Just not yet.</p><p>Your bed is too warm and comfy, your body too relaxed. And there’s a soft arm flung across your waist, a heavy head on your shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Hmm. Arm.</p><p> </p><p>You know how she got there. Sort of. It’s a little blurry to be honest, which, regardless of hangover status – fair, you’ve only been awake for half a minute. And even though your standard behaviour in this type of situation would be to quietly freak out, overthink, and then possibly plot an escape route, you stay still. Partly because it’s difficult to escape from your own home, but also because you’re comfortable. You can’t find a more fitting word for it without waxing poetic – like how you woke up and felt like your heart was wrapped in the softest suds of cotton. That might also be how it feels.</p><p>It’s been a while, to say the least, since you woke up next to someone in a setting that wasn’t you and Sophie on the couch, dozing off while watching another episode of some tv-show and then waking up just enough to stumble back to your respective rooms an undefined amount of time later.</p><p>It’s a pleasant feeling, this, so you close your eyes again and let yourself enjoy it for a moment. From the tip of her nose brushing your collarbone as she moves in her sleep, to her arm on your stomach, and all the way down to her feet, a little bit cold since they’ve escaped the duvet, and tangled with yours. She’s not clinging to you, just sleeping, but the way she lies makes you think of a koala nonetheless. Which would make you some kind of tree. Whatever.</p><p>You think you could get used to this, which is a terrifying epiphany to have at any time of day, let alone at 8:13 on a Friday morning.</p><p>You could also use a trip to the bathroom, you realise approximately half a minute later, because you have to pee.</p><p><em> Really </em> have to pee.</p><p>Really really.</p><p>So, after accepting that no, staying in bed is not a viable option for much longer, you carefully slip yourself out from the tangle of limbs you were a part of, pushing a spare pillow in place where your shoulder used to be to keep your happily dozing bed mate happy and dozing, and scramble out of bed as quiet as you can.</p><p>The floor is cold – you shudder as your feet touch the floorboards. For a moment, your vision goes fuzzy when you stand up, but turns back to normal as you lean down to grab a t-shirt from the pile of clothes next to the bed.</p><p>The sight of a lacy bra underneath it hits you like a punch in the gut, but in a good way, and not so much in the stomach as just below. Your fingertips remember how it felt to remove it, slowly, followed by a trail of kisses along a smooth shoulder. The echo of a moan passes through your skull, and at the same time there’s a soft groan from your bed. She’s fussing around in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up as far as you can tell.</p><p>You pull the t-shirt over your head, avoid the two squeaky floorboards by the bookshelf, and gently shut the door behind you.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess, and there’s a patch of skin where your neck meets your shoulder that has turned a nice shade of purple.</p><p>You can’t help the grin that spreads all the way to your eyes as you shake your head at your ridiculous reflection and pull a hand through your hair, trying to tame it even a little. Splashing your face with cold water, you decide that brushing your teeth might be in order, now that you’re within reaching distance of your toothbrush anyway.</p><p>Toothbrush. Toothbrushes. There is one too many in the glass, unless you’ve gone dramatically cross eyed overnight. You must have given her a toothbrush. How chivalrous.</p><p>But she’s still here so maybe having manners wasn’t a bad idea.</p><p>You end up sitting on the lid of the toilet for a few more minutes after you’re done – sipping from a mug of water and just zoning out, trying to catch up with your brain, trying to tie the events of last night together somewhat. It’s going, but not very well.</p><p>And you haven’t stopped smiling.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I hope you had fun last night”, Sophie says coolly, just as you’re about to finish up your impromptu raid of the fridge, and you nearly drop the bottle of orange juice.</p><p>“Putain, Sophie, you scared me!” you groan, and turn around to face your flatmate. She’s already dressed, very business casual, her usual air of orderly turned up a notch – one hand holding a thermos of coffee, her other hand on her waist, and glaring at you.</p><p>“You know, Hélo, it really is incredible how thin the walls are in this apartment”, she continues. “Also what impeccable timing my hermit recluse flatmate has, when she decides to bring someone home the <em> one time </em> I happen to have an important meeting the next morning, hm?”</p><p>She’s not actually tapping her feet in annoyance, but everything in her posture and the way she looks at you tells you that it’s not far off.</p><p>You can feel your face heating up, and you try your best to look anywhere but at her. Sophie won’t let you though, standing between you and the hallway, and by extension your room.</p><p>“Désolée”, you mumble, scraping with one foot on top of your other, swaying a little – a nervous habit you’ve had for as long as you can remember, and it feels like ages before she speaks again.</p><p>“Forget it, I am happy for you, it was just crappy timing is all. It’s fine. I can sleep on the train.”</p><p>Sophie is straightforward – you know that if she says something is okay she means it – and you sigh and feel your shoulders drop back down.</p><p>She smiles, and gives you a quick hug, before grabbing her duffle bag off one of the mismatched kitchen chairs with her free hand, flinging it over her shoulder and walking out in the hallway.</p><p>“I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon, if the trains behave. There’s a new pack of Doliprane in the bathroom cupboard, I suppose you might need some? And well..” she pauses “Good luck, I guess.”</p><p>That throws you off.</p><p>“Wait, what? Shouldn’t I be the one wishing you good luck? You’re the one doing some fancy presentation in Paris, not me.”</p><p>Sophie does this tiny, exasperated shake of her head and sighs.</p><p>“I meant good luck with the girl, dummy.”</p><p>Oh. Right. Yes.</p><p>If you hadn’t realised it before, you do now: you’re definitely hungover, or sleep deprived, or both because your brain is being <em> slow </em>today. You have no clue how many hours of sleep you actually got, but they were nowhere near enough.</p><p>“Also”, Sophie continues, “next time you decide to be super chivalrous and not have sex with someone because you’re wasted, can you please just go to sleep instead of doing whatever the hell you guys were on about ‘til five in the morning, okay?”</p><p>And that’s when the final puzzle piece clicks in place in your head. It’s still a little blurry, but you remember everything in order now.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks of flirty banter on Tinder. You’d decided to meet up after the first day-and-a-half of messaging, but it took a while to find a time that fit.</p><p>She picked the place – a nice but not fancy bistro just north of centre-ville with comfy sofas and music that wasn’t too loud to talk over. She had red wine, you had beer. You’d completely lost track of both time and how many times you’d taken turns buying another round, immersed in a meandering conversation that never hit any bumps. It was so easy to talk to her, she followed your scatterbrained train of thoughts through every possible topic and gave back just as good.</p><p>It wasn’t until the lights came on above the bar that you noticed that you were the only two people left, and that the chairs were flipped upside down on all the tables. You left a ridiculous tip, and apologized profusely. The sole remaining bartender just smiled and wished you both a good night.</p><p>When you stepped out on the street, she took your hand.</p><p>It was quiet. Her hand was soft, warm. Delicate. You looked down and tangled your fingers in that way that you never do with anyone. Your knees felt soft all of a sudden, and it wasn’t because of the beer. She smiled at you when you looked back up, and squeezed your hand.</p><p>“Some of my friends are out, they’re at a pub a couple of blocks away..” she said, with a tilt of her head in the opposite direction of heading home.</p><p>It was as good as any plan you could come up with yourself. Anything to avoid saying goodnight just yet.</p><p>“Okay, I’m in”, you said, surprising yourself by not feeling more stressed about meeting <em> friends </em> on the first date. Last time you were dating someone, that never even came up as a topic over the five months it had lasted. And you hadn’t even told Sophie where you were going tonight. Meeting some colleagues over drinks is what you’d said before you left home, immensely grateful that there wasn’t more of an overlap in your friend groups, and even more grateful that she hadn’t pried because you were already then too nervous to come up with anything but the truth if she had asked.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The pub was crowded in that way that happens when you put a live band on after a big football game. She found her friends in a corner by the bar, and only let go of your hand when you both did the tour of greeting everybody.</p><p>Then a round of Get 27 happened. And another. And one more.</p><p>After that is when things definitely got fuzzy. You remember the happy flutter in your stomach as you were talking to two of the guys she knew, while stealing glances at her a few metres away. She was doing the exact same thing – look, get caught looking, blush, look away. Promptly followed by getting laughed at by a friend for being obvious, or at least that’s what it looked like from your point of view.</p><p>Blush a bit more.</p><p>You remember dancing, of all things, in a big rowdy group to songs you normally never danced to, songs that on any other day would send you into a grumpy rant on objectification. Ed Sheeran droning on and on about something annoyingly similar to the situation you were currently in, and her, bopping around with a big smile like she didn’t have a care in the world.</p><p>You remember leaving, jacket in hand to let the night cool you down a bit, and how quiet it got once all her friends had scattered in various directions.</p><p>You remember her leaning against a wall, how one side of her face was glowing, golden from the streetlight and how the other half was obscured. How time was slowing down in exact contrast to how your heart was speeding up.</p><p>She reached out and took your hand again, played with your fingers. It was too faint to call it a pull but the intent was there.</p><p>Move closer, please.</p><p>So you did.</p><p>Close enough that the tips of your shoes were touching hers. Close enough that you could actually hear her swallow. You could have counted her eyelashes if you wanted to, but you kept getting lost in her eyes instead. Her mascara had smudged a little.</p><p>She hadn’t let go of your hand, it was as if you were frozen in time, balancing on a precipice, both of you waiting for the other to work up the nerve to actually jump.</p><p>You had goosebumps all over your arms. Maybe from being cold, maybe from the unspoken tension. Most likely from a combination of the two.</p><p>“Are you gonna kiss me?” you asked.</p><p>“I wouldn’t dare,'' she whispered, looking straight at you.</p><p>And you got it. It wasn’t a “no”, it wasn’t an “I don’t want to”. It was simply being afraid to jump.</p><p>So you did.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The kiss stayed soft and sweet for all of ten seconds. Then her hands came up to tangle in your hair, caress your neck, pull you closer as she straightened herself to stand flush against the brick wall. You pushed against her, lightly, hips to hips, and felt your breath almost falter as she slipped her tongue in your mouth.</p><p>After an undefined amount of time she lightly bit your lower lip, and you let out a sound – something between a moan and a whimper. You felt her slowing down, pulling back a little.</p><p>“Maybe we should.. not stay here?” she suggested.</p><p>“Yeah. Mmh. Great idea.”</p><p>“Your place? I think it’s closer?”</p><p>You set off down the street, on the least efficient walk home of your life. She had insisted on stopping to kiss you under every other streetlight, “because one should do things in life that makes it feel like an old movie”, and in the elevator for the very same reason.</p><p>And you had tried, both of you, really, to be quiet when you finally managed to unlock the apartment door, with her unhelpfully hovering right behind you, breath hot on the back of your neck.</p><p>“I.. should probably drink some water,” she said after a minor collision with the drawer as you both stumbled into the hallway.</p><p>“Ah. Yes, good idea,” you agreed and marched into the kitchen after locking the front door.</p><p>You left the lights off, running the water slowly to make less noise as you waited for it to get cold.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Somehow you eventually made it to your room, most of your clothes hastily removed and left in a pile next to the bed, before you tumbled onto it in a flurry of kisses and wandering hands.</p><p>“Can I?”</p><p>She nodded, pulling you down for another bruising kiss.</p><p>“Wait, I.. stupid clasp,” you sighed, sinking back so you were on your knees, straddling her “sorry, this isn’t very smooth..”</p><p>She took matters into her own hands, quickly sitting up and reaching behind herself to unclasp the bra before you had time to protest.</p><p>“Oh, stop pouting.”</p><p>“But.. I wanted to do that,” you huffed.</p><p>“You’ll get your chances,” she said, eyes sparkling in the low light. Somewhere in the back of your head, a lone butterfly tested its wings.</p><p>You paused for a moment, taking in the sight. You felt drunk. You were drunk. She was beautiful. Leaning in, you kissed her shoulder, right next to the strap of her bra before pulling it off and tossing it somewhere on the floor. She fell back on the pillows, her hair like a ruffled, messy halo around her.</p><p>Slowly, you dragged your right hand all the way from her collarbone to below her belly button, stopping, feeling her soft, hot skin under your palm before lying down next to her on your side, letting your hand wander higher up again.</p><p>As your thumb brushed over her left nipple she moaned, her body tensing and turning towards you. So you did it again, and again, and again, her kisses becoming more and more desperate, dissolving into whimpers, her hips slowly rocking into yours.</p><p>Soon, you were the one on your back, her mouth hot on your neck.</p><p>“I want you. I want you <em> so </em> much,” she gasped, grinding down hard on your thigh. Her underwear were not damp, they were honest to god wet all the way through, and your head was spinning.</p><p>You could only moan in reply.</p><p>And that’s when it dawned on you. Your head wasn’t spinning only because you were so turned on you had a hard time breathing. You were still wasted. That last round of shots had come back to punish you in the cruellest of ways.</p><p>“I think.. maybe we should slow down,” you stuttered in between kisses.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gone from sultry to caring in a heartbeat.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m just.. a little wasted.”</p><p>She giggled, and planted a kiss on the tip of your nose.</p><p>“I want you,” you said, sighing. “So much. But.. I wanna remember what I’m doing, and I think I might be too drunk still.”</p><p>You couldn’t quite bear to look her in the eyes, your gaze fixed on a spot on the ceiling just to the right of her head. The spot was moving. You were definitely not sober.</p><p>“It’s alright, we’re not doing something unless we both want to.”</p><p>“But I want too,” you kissed her again, all inhibitions vanished just like that.</p><p>You kept the game of on and off going for god knows how long – alternating between toe-curling deep kisses, hands roaming <em>almost</em> everywhere , then shuddering coming to a halt, mumbling about being too wasted, both of you, how badly you wanted it, drunkenly commending each other on how responsible both of you were for deciding to wait.</p><p>The last thing you could recall was her curling up as the little spoon, your hand in hers, pulling it up to rest by her heart.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Allô?!”</p><p>You snap back to present day in your hallway, where Sophie is waving her hand in front of your eyes.</p><p>“I gotta bounce, good luck have fun, see you tomorrow!”</p><p>Sophie slams the door shut, and you stand frozen on the doormat until you no longer hear her running down the stairs.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When you get back in your room Marianne has starfished the entire bed, sprawled out face down with one arm and one leg sticking out from underneath the duvet. Her hair is pointing in all possible directions, and you feel a sudden urge to play with it.</p><p>You put the tray of supplies you’ve gathered on your bedside table – bottles of water, painkillers, two glasses of orange juice, and a bowl of cashews that normally lived on the living room coffee table.</p><p>Salt helps with hangovers.</p><p>You slip back under the covers as carefully as possible, you don’t want to wake her up if she still needs sleep. God knows you could do with another hour or two, as well.</p><p>She grumbles when you accidentally touch her leg with your now ice-cold feet, shuffles around until she’s on her back, and you settle on your side, curled into her. She’s sort of using you like a spare blanket, pulling your arm over her waist and you end up resting your head on her shoulder.</p><p>“Are you awake?” you whisper. “Marianne?”</p><p>All you get for a reply is a yawn and a huff, and her hand squeezing your arm draped over her stomach.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Despite your best efforts, you don’t fall back to sleep. By the time Marianne is finally stirring, you’ve read the news, scrolled to the end of your Instagram feed, emptied a bottle of water, ate a third of the cashews and read two chapters in your current book. She squints at the light, her nose all scrunched up, and rubs at her eyes.</p><p>“Bonjour,” you say.</p><p>“Bonjour.”</p><p>“Ça va?”</p><p>She yawns, stretches, her long body uncurling under the duvet, feet poking out at the other end. “Oo-oui. Not too bad. No, actually quite bad,” she decides, “I’m dizzy. You?”</p><p>“I’m alright, I think.”</p><p>You pass her the water bottle from the bedside table, watch as she curls back into herself like a sleepy cat, taking small sips from the bottle.</p><p>“What are you reading?”</p><p>“Kallocain.”</p><p>“The one you texted about the other day?”</p><p>You nod. “It’s the one that is kind of like 1984, but written a decade earlier, and by a female author. So technically it should be the other way around, 1984 is similar to Kallocain.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“What do you mean no?”</p><p>“Read me something nice?”</p><p>Her voice is small and tired, she’s peeking up at you with one eye, the other shut. You lean over the edge of the bed to take a look at the stack of books next to it. At least half of them are non-fiction, another third is sad, grim or the middle book of a series. You end up grabbing a dog-eared paperback, almost adored to pieces after the countless times you read it when you were younger, from underneath a couple of magazines.</p><p>“Have you read Momo?”</p><p>“Momo?”</p><p>“It’s written by the guy who wrote The Neverending Story.”</p><p>“The one with the weird movies, where there’s a dragon that looks like a dog?”</p><p>You nod.</p><p>“So it’s a children’s book?”</p><p>“Well, yes, but in the same way that Le Petit Prince is a children’s book. It’s philosophical, it’s about a girl who has to stop grey men in suits from stealing time.”</p><p>“Okay,” she says, “convince me,” looking up at you with slightly less squinty eyes than a few minutes ago. She shuffles around and eventually settles with her head in your lap.</p><p>“There’s a spider on your ceiling,” she points out just as you’re about to start reading.</p><p>“I know. I trust it to not fall down on me so I’ve let it be.”</p><p>“Cute.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Long, long ago, when people spoke languages quite different from our own, many fine, big cities already existed in the sunny lands of the world. There were towering palaces..” </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You’re seventeen pages in, and Marianne has maybe fallen asleep again, you’re not sure. She looks so peaceful and you don’t want to disturb her, but your right foot fell asleep three pages ago, and the more you try not to think about it, the more your foot is buzzing.</p><p>This is not your average morning after, that much is certain. Staying the night is one thing, maybe even having a stilted coffee and a kiss before both parties go their separate ways, but being asked to read her a book? With her lying on your lap? How did this happen?</p><p>You wriggle your leg a little, trying to get some blood flow back in it.</p><p>“Why’d you stop?” she mumbles. Not sleeping, then.</p><p>“My foot fell asleep.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry.” She rolls off your buzzing leg, wrapped in the duvet like some kind of fluffy burrito, and you can’t resist putting the book back on your nightstand, then bending down to kiss her cheek as thanks.</p><p>“You smell like toothpaste.”</p><p>It’s not a question, and it does throw you off a little.</p><p>“Yeah, I went to the bathroom a while ago so I brushed my teeth while I was there”, you explain, because what else is there to say?</p><p>“I haven’t, I should.. Umm.”</p><p>She pushes herself up so she’s sitting half-turned towards you, the duvet falling down as she moves, taking at least a handful of your poor brain cells with it as it drops.</p><p>Soft. That’s about as articulate as you can be right now. And it’s not just because of the way the morning light makes her look close to angelic, but because you <em> know </em> how soft her skin is. You’ve touched her, you’ve drawn patterns across her chest, her ribs, her back with your fingertips, with your lips, and all you want is to do it again. And again. And again. Gods, you hope she will let you.</p><p>You swallow thickly, and tip your head up. Making a point of looking along the way, because this view is magnificent and you want her to know how much you appreciate it. By the time your eyes meet again, she’s smirking and leans back on her arms ever so slightly.</p><p>You are so fucked.</p><p>“Marianne?” you try, your voice not quite steady.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I really want to kiss you now.”</p><p>For a split second her eyes go wide and utterly defenseless, she swallows, then lets out a little sound that is halfway between a sigh and a gasp, and you can’t know for sure what is going on in her mind but to you, it feels like the air all of a sudden got loaded with desire.</p><p>“Yeah, I’d like that,” she whispers, lifting her hand to draw tiny patterns by the neckline of your t-shirt.</p><p>Your first instinct is to just push her back down into the pillows, but before that thought has run its course you’ve already changed your mind. This won’t be your first kiss, it’s probably not even the hundredth, but it’s hard to count because at times it’s unclear where one kiss ends and the next one begins. Hopefully (almost certainly) it won’t be the last. But you find yourself wanting to savour this one all the same. So you go slow. Or try.</p><p>Holding yourself up on one hand, you put the other behind her neck and lean in. It starts off gentle, chaste almost, but then Marianne grabs proper hold of the front of your t-shirt and pulls you with her as she lies back down. She takes control and before you know it you’re back in the gasping, languid, open-mouthed heaven of last night.</p><p>For a few seconds, that is.</p><p>Then her hand is on your chest, gently pushing.</p><p>“Quoi?” you ask, dazed.</p><p>“I’m just gonna go, brush my teeth. I was going to.. I.. interrupted,” she mumbles, trying to untangle herself from both you and the duvet.</p><p>“Marianne, I don’t care,” you say, kissing her cheek, the tip of her nose, her mouth.</p><p>“No. Toothbrush first. Then make out.”</p><p>You pretend you don’t hear her – there is so much of her for you to put your mouth on, and you’re diverting all your focus to the trail of kisses you’re creating – starting from her shoulder, destination further south.</p><p>“Hélo- oooh..”</p><p>It’s so damn delicious to hear your own name shatter into an airy gasp in her mouth.</p><p>“Yes?” you say without looking up, continuing your path down her body.</p><p>“I. Need. To. Brush. My. Teeth. Okay?”</p><p>She’s talking to you as if you are very little, or possibly very stupid.</p><p>“You really don’t though.”</p><p>You slide back up and lean in to kiss right below her ear, then nibble at her earlobe. Her hands return to tangle in your hair, seconds later she’s half-heartedly trying to push you away again.</p><p>“I’ll be quick, I promise.”</p><p>“Hmmff.”</p><p>She pushes herself up to get out from under you, and you flop to the side like a ragdoll, grasping for her hand.</p><p>“One more kiss?” you try, tangling her fingers with yours. A tiny siren goes off in the back of your head – you may be stumbling on the line separating cute from clingy now, but she just leans down and plants a kiss on the tip of your nose.</p><p>“Five minutes. I’m sure you can survive for five minutes,” she murmurs before getting out of bed. She doesn’t even bother putting a shirt on, just pads across the floor in nothing but her underwear. It’s a sight to behold.</p><p>“Feeling very lonely here now,” you whine from where you’re sprawled all over the bed.</p><p>Turning back, she just laughs at you, then slips out the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You almost doze off while she’s away, the muted sounds of her moving about the apartment mixed with the breeze and birds and occasional car passing by from outside very nearly lulling you back to sleep.</p><p>She steps on the squeaky floorboard on her way back. You pretend to not hear it.</p><p>“Did you fall asleep?”</p><p>She must be standing right by the bed now, her voice sounds so close, but you keep your eyes shut.</p><p>“No way you fell asleep in four minutes, I don’t believe it,” she mutters.</p><p>The mattress sinks behind you as she sits down on the edge of the bed, and she starts dragging her fingertips along your side from your ribs to your hip and then back again. It’s very soothing, but you turn over on your stomach, away from her all the same.</p><p>“Hmpf. Five minutes ago you were the neediest person in France, and now this?” Marianne says, still stroking your side, dragging your t-shirt up a little as she goes.</p><p>“I am sleeping.”</p><p>“Oh yes, clearly. Sleep talking too.”</p><p>“It’s one of my hidden skills. You have now unlocked level 3.”</p><p>“There are levels?”</p><p>“Mmf.”</p><p>“So how do I unlock the next one?”</p><p>She sounds playful in an innocent way, not insinuating a thing, and you haven’t played a video game except for Mario Kart in years so you don’t know where the talk about levels even came from, but <em> something </em> about this whole situation makes you want to turn around and just.. let her have her way. But you stay where you are, waiting to see what she might come up with. She’s still drawing patterns on your back. It is <em> very </em> relaxing.</p><p>“Héloïse?”</p><p>“Mmmf?”</p><p>“Just checking if you’re still awake.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>She’s giggling quietly, and you feel her shift behind you. Then, her hand comes up to brush your hair from your neck, and she’s pulling gently at the neckline of your t-shirt and.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Suddenly, she’s so close you can almost feel her lying on top of you. Almost. Her mouth is hot on your neck – softly kissing, breathing – and her free hand, the one not holding her up, is caressing your waist again. You feel heavy, as if your nervous system is so overloaded that it limits your ability to move, but you manage to turn yourself around all the same.</p><p>“Hi,” she says, when you’re on your back underneath her. “I knew you were awake.”</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>“Good morning?”</p><p>“Yeah, it is,” you smile, lifting your hand to stroke at her neck, to play with her hair. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, lies down so your upper bodies are flush against one another.</p><p>“Feels so good.” Her voice is airy, not much more than a whisper, warm just below your ear. You shift your head to the side to kiss her, still running your fingers through her hair.</p><p>Time nearly comes to a halt.</p><p>You don’t know if it’s because of the amount of time that has passed since you last spent a morning in bed <em> with company </em>, or if it’s simply because nothing has ever felt quite this way before, but there is something about the way Marianne touches you that is tugging at your heartstrings. It’s so unabashed. And yes, you may both be half naked, but it’s not about that. Not exclusively, anyway.</p><p>She’s making you feel safe. And she seems to enjoy the concept of sharing body heat, and you never understood how much you craved that. Until now. No one in your short line of exes liked being close just for the sake of being close, not to this degree, and even though you’re pretty certain where this morning is heading, staying like this would be more than enough. You’re content.</p><p>Your premonition about the direction of things seems to be correct however, as your kisses grow more and more heated, and her hands keep sneaking in under your t-shirt, making your breath hitch over and over.</p><p>“Why are you even wearing clothes?” she grumps. “This shirt wasn’t on when we fell asleep.”</p><p>“Because I went to the bathroom earlier, and I have a flatmate, remember.”</p><p>“Oh.. crap? I forgot.”</p><p>“She’s not here, she comes back tomorrow.”</p><p>“But she was here?”</p><p>“Ehm, yes. She was a bit mad at me.. us.. for disturbing her beauty sleep but it’s fine. And it’s just a tee, it’s not like I’m wearing a chastity belt.”</p><p>Marianne lifts her head, and looks at you, contemplative all of a sudden.</p><p>“Something wrong?”</p><p>“No, no, just.. thinking,” she says, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fabric of the t-shirt.</p><p>“Do you want me to take it off?” you ask, moving to sit up. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh, okay.”</p><p>For a second you think you’ve misread things.</p><p>“I want to take it off.”</p><p>The way her eyes darken as she puts emphasis on the <em> I </em> tells you everything you need to know. She’s on your lap, grabbing the hem, a small smile playing on her lips.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>You lift your arms above your head, closing your eyes, and feel her hands brush over your ribs as she’s pulling the t-shirt, up, up, up. When you hear the soft sound of cotton landing on the pile of already discarded clothes you open your eyes again.</p><p>She pushes you back down onto the pillows in a way that leaves no questions. The way she slides her thigh between yours, smirking, before stretching out on top of you, kissing you deep and slow. She’s sneaking a hand up along your ribcage, her thumb teasing close, close to your nipple. You’re just about to take her hand and move it there because you can’t stand the tension, when she slips down, and suddenly there is a tongue instead, and you’re arching off the bed.</p><p>Time gets blurry, all you’re paying attention to is her roaming hands, her soft lips, all the small, delicious noises she’s making. At some point you’re the one stretched out on top, one of her hands heavy on the small of your back in time with how you move, the other pressing between your shoulder blades. She’s whimpering with almost every breath now, and there is a scorching heat where your leg fits between hers. You try to push yourself up, so you can properly look her in the eyes.</p><p>That’s when it happens. The noise. It’s loud – abrupt and drawn out at the same time, and one hundred percent mood-killing – the result of sweaty, desperate bodies trying to be as close as possible for a little too long.</p><p>Both of you freeze, disconnect, and stare at each other with absolute horror for a second.</p><p>Then you lose it, collapsing in a heap of giggles on top of her, burying your head in the pillow right next to her shoulder. It’s all too much, made even more ridiculous by the daylight, and how sleep deprived you are, and how you’ve been in various states of arousal for at least twelve hours now and it’s making your brain go haywire.</p><p>She’s turning away, and at first you get distracted by the lovely expanse of neck. Then you lift your head so you can look at her properly.</p><p>“Hey, are you okay?”</p><p>“Mm.. just embarrassed,” she tells the pillow, flopping over so she’s lying on her stomach, facing away from you. “That was.. not a very sexy sound.”</p><p>“Oh I know, but even the sexiest of bodies make horrible sounds at times. I mean, we’re living proof,” you say with a smirk, letting your eyes roam over her back and shoulders.</p><p>She turns up from behind the pillow with burning cheeks, and a vulnerable tinge in her eyes that makes your heart feel too big for your chest. Surely she must know how incredible she is. You want to make sure she’ll never doubt it.</p><p>For a short while, all you do is look at each other. Then she pulls you close as she lies down on her back again, so that you’re nuzzling her cheek. There’s a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t seem to rein it in. You play with her hair, pushing her bangs in different directions until she turns her head and tilts it, as if asking a question.</p><p>“Quoi?”</p><p>She shakes her head and kisses you instead.</p><p>“Are you feeling sexy again?”</p><p>She just snorts in reply.</p><p>“Because you should. You have the most amazing body,” you start, planting a kiss on the unbelievably soft skin at the underside of her left breast.</p><p>“So amazing.” Another kiss, slightly lower.</p><p>“It makes the most incredible noises,” you’re by her belly button now, giggling softly between kisses.</p><p>“Oh, fuck you,” she laughs, swatting at your shoulder. You can feel how restless she is becoming – one second her body is completely relaxed, then she tenses, then falls back to pliant again in irregular intervals.</p><p>“Mm. That’s kind of the plan,” you whisper, not knowing if she actually hears it.</p><p>Her hand comes down, searching for yours on her hip, and you take it, slowly caressing her knuckles with your thumb.</p><p>“I can’t believe how soft you are,” you breathe, hot and wet against her skin, lips mere centimeters away from her underwear. You take a deep breath before looking up, the question written all over your face. Her eyes are wide and dark, she’s breathing through her mouth, slow, as if she’s trying to gather herself. Her hand is still gripping yours, harder now.</p><p>“Please?” you whisper.</p><p>“Please,” she echoes, falling back against the pillows.</p><p>You kiss her. Right there, on the damp fabric of her underwear, and the broken gasp she lets out, the way she squeezes your hand and how every muscle in her thighs goes taut is making your head spin. She’s unreal.</p><p>Her free hand is pushing at the waistband of her underwear, desperately trying to get them off, so you let go of her other hand and do it for her, dragging the black cotton down her long legs.</p><p>“You’re unreal,” you tell her, dropping them in the growing pile of clothes on the floor and moving one hand back to stroke her leg, just above her knee. There’s not much left to build that clothes pile with now, and it’s delightful knowledge.</p><p>“You’re stalling,” she whispers when maybe ten seconds have passed. She’s not wrong. It’s happening, this, and apparently you need a moment to let the reality sink in.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be, I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”</p><p>She’s definitely unreal. The way she just patiently lies down, your nervous gaze all over her, waiting for you to catch up with yourself. It’s the sweetest thing.</p><p>Her legs are on either side of your waist when you bend down to kiss her again, building back the momentum that you sort of lost when her underwear came off.</p><p>You asked before, but you ask once more, just to be sure. The fact that she spreads her legs as you start moving down her trembling body speaks volumes, but this is new, you don’t know everything about her, and you do not want to mess up.</p><p>“Can I?” against the softest skin, inside of her thigh.</p><p>“God, yes. Just. Please.”</p><p>Okay then.</p><p>She takes your hand again, where it’s resting on her stomach, tangling your fingers together. You’re done teasing, one last kiss to her thigh and then your tongue is on her, the softest, most silky heat.</p><p>It doesn’t take long until she’s shifting and moaning, uninhibited, and when you add a finger and hear your own name choked out in the middle of a string of stuttered “putain”, the burn low and deep in your belly flares up through every cell in your body.</p><p>Of course there’s a desperate whimper of “don’t stop, please don’t stop” – her hand in your hair, her hips rising up to meet you – just as your jaw starts to get real tired, but you ignore the strain and keep going, high on arousal and being surrounded by her. You can feel her thighs tensing more than ever on top of your shoulders, then go limp, weighing you down as she’s gasping for air – a mumbled “fuck, Héloïse,” as she’s slowly coming down from her high. It’s intoxicating.</p><p>So is her lazy smile and drowsy eyes when you crawl back up, the way she stops your hand before you have a chance to wipe at your chin and mouth and instead kisses you, open-mouthed and indulgent. It’s so much, all of it. Not too much, that’s a whole different situation. This is just.. everything. You feel like you’re about to implode any second.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for this kiss to turn heated either, for her to have you on your back, her on the side, one hand wandering dangerously – caressing the insides of your thighs, then cupping her hand on top of your underwear. She doesn’t comment on how soaked they are, she just looks at you, almost in awe.</p><p>“Yes,” you breathe, and then her fingers slip under the waistband.</p><p>There is no need for direction, she figures you out almost straight away, starting out gentle and teasing. Only you’re so riled up already the intended teasing has you reduced to a trembling, whimpering mess in no time at all – you’re trying to kiss her but can only manage stuttered breaths in the crook of her neck.</p><p>It’s happening so fast, the restless burn is growing up your back and down your thighs, and too late you realise that you’re past the point of no return.</p><p>You reach for her wrist, a desperate attempt to try and slow things down a notch, but that only leads to her touching exactly the right spot with exactly the right pressure, and you can only moan helplessly, clutching at her hand as your body tips over the edge.</p><p>It might be the most conflicting feeling you have ever felt. Because on one hand – fucking finally, you’ve been turned on more or less non-stop since she started dancing at that bar last night, and on the other hand dread, because this is not how you imagined things going. All of a sudden, you feel a lot of sympathy for teenage boys.</p><p>Everything stops for a moment, then she moves her fingers a little and you involuntarily jolt, grabbing her hand firmer to keep it still.</p><p>“Did you just.. come?”</p><p>There’s surprise in her voice, and something more that you can’t quite place.</p><p>You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to roll away from her. “Fuck off, I’ve been turned on for twelve hours straight,” you moan into a pillow.</p><p>You will just have to stay here, face in pillow, slowly perishing from a lack of oxygen until no one remembers you, or your lack of stamina anymore. It’s the only way.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay. It happens. Sex is weird you know,” she says.</p><p>“But I..” you’re overwhelmed, struggling to find both your voice and an explanation, all too aware of your burning face, and the tears threatening to surface.</p><p>“I mean, the way I see it, it’s quite flattering.”</p><p>“How?” you whine.</p><p>“Oh come on, you being so turned on. Not to be arrogant but I’d like to think that I can take credit for at least some of it.”</p><p>“Oh.” You hadn’t thought of that.</p><p>You turn your head away from the pillow. Looking her in the eyes feels a bit much still, so you look at her hand instead, still trapped under yours in your underwear. The fact that you’re still not fully undressed is not helping you feel less like a spazzy teen.</p><p>You’re just about to pull both of your hands away when she moves her fingers again, just a tiny little flicker, and whatever you were going to say is lost to a broken gasp.</p><p>“Do you think you could go again?” Her voice is so soft, a warm whisper close to your ear..</p><p>“Right now?”</p><p>You feel, rather than see, her nodding against you.</p><p>And of course you want to. She’s here. Your heart is still racing. You’re just not sure if you can take another mishap.</p><p>“I don’t know if.. I’ve never..” you can’t find the words you want, but she seems to understand anyway.</p><p>“I’ll be gentle. And just tell me if it doesn’t feel good, promise? Anytime.”</p><p>Your eyes meet hers, and she shifts around so that she’s kneeling next to you. You push yourself up on your elbows, lifting your bum up as she pulls your underwear off. For a second you fight the urge to crawl back under the duvet, but the way she looks at you calms you a little. Then she lies down, again on her side, pushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. The next thing you know, her hand is back on the inside of your thigh again, so close. You tilt your knee to the side to give her space.</p><p>It’s a strange feeling. You’re still twitchy from coming, and beginning to get all worked up again at the same time. Soon, she’s lying half on top of you, alternating between languid kisses, and bending down to scatter soft pecks on your breasts. You’re playing with the hair at the nape of her neck, or trying to – after a while you’re kind of just holding on to her, trying to make sense of the mess of sensations. It’s not that it doesn’t feel good, because it does, but it’s like you struggle to completely let go again.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s working,” you mumble, trying to not sound dejected.</p><p>“Do you want to stop?”</p><p>“No, I want., it’s just..” your words fizzle out, you honestly don’t even know what you were gonna say, if you were going to say anything coherent. It’s her who finds the words instead.</p><p>“I just want to touch you, I really like touching you. The sounds you make, feeling how you react to anything I do.”</p><p>Maybe it’s the selflessness, or the short pause that gives you time to reboot, or her voice – soft, almost reverent, or how it feels like she really means what she’s saying, but either way it helps. You want her to touch you, so much it almost scares you, and she wants to do it, and it doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. And somehow, you actually find it in you to relax, to just be.</p><p>“Can you.. inside, please?” you whisper after a short while. There is a burning feeling there, and you want it sated.</p><p>“Mm. Two?”</p><p>The mere thought of it makes it hard to breathe.</p><p>“Wait, can I..”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we sit up?”</p><p>You shuffle around, quickly pushing a pile of pillows against the headboard to make sure she’ll be comfortable. She looks at you as if you’re building her a castle, or perhaps an altar. You straddle her, hesitating a little at taking charge, being vocal about what you want, but then shake the doubts, and instead take her other hand and guide it around your waist.</p><p>Then her fingers push inside you, slow and firm, and it feels as if someone lit a fuse all the way up your spine. You glance down briefly, at her arm trapped between your bodies, watch her hand at the apex of your thighs, the careful movements.</p><p>Soon, you’re clinging to her, desperately moaning against her neck. She won’t speed up, even when you’re outright begging her to, no matter how much you squirm. She just holds you tight, her free arm wrapped around the small of your back, bringing you closer and closer and closer as her fingers start to curl a little more for each unhurried push. Then the heel of her hand rubs against your clit, it might not even be on purpose, but suddenly you’re gone again, a boneless, shaky mess collapsing in her arms.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You don’t think a day in your life has ever felt this long, has ever been so deliciously stretched out.</p><p>At some point you actually make it out of bed, to make breakfast/brunch/lunch/whatever – Marianne uses the time while you rummage around in the kitchen to take a shower. When she sneaks up on you after, wrapped only in a towel and surrounded by a faint cloud of the scent of your shampoo, pressing her lips to your shoulder it honestly feels like your heart is going to leap out of your chest.</p><p>“Could I maybe borrow some clothes?”</p><p>You turn off the stove and direct her to your drawers, then leave her to her own devices.</p><p>Seeing Marianne shuffle around barefoot in your kitchen wearing one of your old sweatshirts and a pair of leggings that you had forgotten even existed <em> does </em>things to you. Her hair is still a little damp, curling and sticking up in all directions, and you feel just like being turned on, except the heat is higher up now, under your sternum.</p><p>It is warm enough to eat on the balcony, warm enough that Marianne eventually sneaks in to swap the sweatshirt for a tank top. She flops back down on the wobbly chair opposite you with a content sigh.</p><p>“Aah, I needed this.”</p><p>You’re blushing again, and she’s laughing at you.</p><p>“Get your mind out of the gutter, silly. I meant <em> this </em> as in food, and sunshine, and switching to less warm clothes.”</p><p>“Mhm,” you nod, sipping from your orange juice.</p><p>“Are you fishing for compliments?” she gives you a sly look, biting her bottom lip.</p><p>“No. Nope, not at all.”</p><p>You fall silent briefly.</p><p>“I mean, I.. it was good, right?”</p><p>She stares at you, as if she can’t quite understand you.</p><p>“You’re so sweet, I can’t believe you think you have to ask that.”</p><p>Your face heats up, again, and you look down into your glass, smiling as you remember her, after. Then she pokes her toe at your shin under the table, proceeding to stroke your ankle with her foot.</p><p>“But, just for the sake of clarification,” she rips the last pancake in half and covers the piece put on her plate with a horrendous amount of raspberry jam, “it was amazing. You’re amazing.”</p><p>And when she says it like that, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you find that you actually believe her.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At some point you go back indoors, reroute your doing nothing to the living room couch, to keep from turning into lobsters in the sun.</p><p>You forget whatever movie you chose after five minutes, and spend the whole thing making out like teenagers, in a way you never actually got to do when you were a teen. Your heart feels so light you don’t know how the outsides of your body doesn’t simply just burst and leave your soul to float away.</p><p>When the credits are rolling, Marianne untangles herself and plops down to sit on the floor.</p><p>“I’m going to go home now.”</p><p>Your heart sinks like a stone, and it must show on your face because right away her hand is there, softly stroking your cheek.</p><p>“I could stay longer, you know, but I think I want to miss you for a little bit? Does that make any sense?”</p><p>You nod, because of course she is right, you’ve only just met, you both have lives to live and things to do outside of this 21 hour bubble. You swallow, trying to come up with something to say that won’t leave you in the land of ambiguity but also won’t overdo it.</p><p>“So, when can I see you again?”<br/>
<br/>
The words have barely left your mouth before you feel your stomach lurch. You’re being clingy, you have no game, you’re showing too much interest way too soon. But Marianne shuffles a little, looking at you with a shy smile.</p><p>“I was thinking maybe tomorrow? If you have the time of course.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You close your front door at 17:48, after a kiss goodbye that turned into five. Then you flop down on your bed, spending thirty seven entirely unproductive minutes alternating between staring at the spider on the ceiling with a dopey as fuck grin on your face, and burying your head in your pillow, because <em> it smells like her </em>now. Which makes all the sense in the world, but it sends your emotions flying in all directions anyway.</p><p>She texts as you are making dinner.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>[Marianne 19:03]</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Get out of my head, I can’t concentrate on anything. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>You burn your omelette.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sophie gets back later than planned on Saturday evening. She texts you a string of curse words all directed at the SNCF just as you and Marianne are about to prepare dinner. You send her a promise of leftovers to heat up, to calm her down, and then continue slicing bell peppers. Marianne is mashing an avocado and keeping an eye on the chicken in the frying pan at the same time.</p><p>“I have no opinion on coriander,” she says, looking on as you start chopping the flimsy leaves into tiny pieces for the guacamole.</p><p>“O-kay?”</p><p>“I mean, everybody’s always <em> either you think it tastes like soap or you love it </em>. I am neither. I don’t know, it just feels like something I’m expected to have a strong opinion on, but I don’t.”</p><p>“I like coriander,” you say. “But I also think that there are many other things that are more important to have an opinion on.”</p><p>She nods in agreement.</p><p>“Short distance flights that don’t cross large bodies of water,” she adds, in a tone that clearly tells how she feels about them.</p><p>“Bottled still water.”</p><p>“Foie Gras.”</p><p>“The entire Le Pen family. Wait, you know what, let’s say things we like instead,” you decide, because you have zero desire to fall into the depressing sink hole of right-wing supremacy right now, no matter how cute your conversation partner.</p><p>“Mist in the mornings just as the sun is about to rise,” she smiles after a few seconds.</p><p>“Elderflowers.”</p><p>“Old people doing things very slowly. Because they’ve lived so long they should have earned the right to not being rushed by anyone.”</p><p>“The feeling just after you’ve finished a good book and you kind of don’t know where you are for a little while.”</p><p>“Bookworm.”</p><p>“As in you like bookworms or that you say I’m a bookworm?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Pfft,” you awkwardly deflect the compliment.  “It’s your turn again.”</p><p>“Really worn-out clothes, when they’re almost falling apart and you can’t really wear them in public anymore, but they’re so soft.”</p><p>“When working out and you get a second wind.”</p><p>“Puzzles.”</p><p>“Instant noodles.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I really like instant noodles. I know they’re not exactly great, as far as food goes, but I like them a lot.”</p><p>“You don’t strike me as a noodle person,” she says, then adding “but maybe that’s because I only associate them with when my brother was a teenager and ate anything he could get his hands on whenever. It’s sloppy dude food.”</p><p>“So I’m a sloppy dude?”</p><p>She lets her eyes wander over you, slow, looking every part the art critic for a few seconds. Then she wrinkles her nose. “Not really, no. But apparently you eat sloppy dude food.”</p><p>“It’s okay though, because I can cook real food too,” you tell her.</p><p>“You’re cute,” she says, snuggling close to give you a hug, a kiss on the cheek, before proceeding to open various cupboards in search of something.</p><p>“Aha!”</p><p>She takes out two plates and sets them on the table, then walks over to you and nudges you in the side until you step aside. Ah. Cutlery drawer. She’s adorable like this, trying to figure out the layout of the kitchen, apparently dead set on not asking you for anything but to go looking for herself instead.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marianne has fallen asleep, doesn’t move an inch as Sophie slams the front door shut and shouts “Honey, I’m home” in a strange american accent the way she always does. You, on the other hand, would have fallen off the couch if Marianne hadn’t been draped half on top of you.</p><p>Not bothering with pausing the episode, you untangle yourself from Marianne and head out in the hallway to say hi to Sophie.</p><p>“Salut, ça va?”</p><p>“Tired. Hungry. But I think the presentation went well, so that’s good,” Sophie says, dropping her duffel bag on the floor.</p><p>You nod sympathetically.</p><p>“There’s leftovers in the kitchen, I can heat it up for you if you want.”</p><p>Sophie gives you a curious look.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“No, nothing, just.. Are you still feeling bad about waking me up yesterday, or what is it? You’re acting strange.”</p><p>“For offering to get you food? I cook all the time.”</p><p>“Yes. No. Not really. But something’s off..” she veers off, looking around as if the walls of the hallway held secrets.</p><p>As if on cue there’s a soft rustling sound from the living room, most likely caused by Marianne moving on the couch. Sophie's eyes light up.</p><p>“Is she still here?!” she whispers, except she’s being way too loud for the actual purpose of whispering.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Sophie stares at you.</p><p>“I mean yes she is, but she did leave. And then she came back,” you admit.</p><p>“Seriously? You couldn’t stay apart for how long? 18 hours?”</p><p>“Twenty two. And a half,” you mumble, feeling your face heat up for what must be the 753rd time in the last two days. You’re balancing on one foot, swaying a little. Sophie looks like someone just told her Christmas is tomorrow.</p><p>“Terrible defense, honestly, I expected more of you.”</p><p>“...”</p><p>“Oh my god look at you! You’re acting like a fourteen year-old or something.”</p><p>“Shut up!” you hiss, hoping that your tone will dampen Sophie’s squealing a little.</p><p>“You’re so squirmy!”</p><p>“Am not,” you say, putting your right foot back on the rug.</p><p>“Whatever, move,” Sophie commands.</p><p>“Excuse you?”</p><p>“You’re blocking the way,” she says as if you weren’t hovering in that very spot for that very reason. You stare down at her, trying to look scary and imposing.</p><p>“Hélo, scoot. I wanna go to my room.”</p><p>“First, you have to promise you won’t embarrass me.”</p><p>“What, no?!”</p><p>“I know you, you’re not going to your room, you’re gonna head straight into the living room and somehow manage to make me seem like a loon in front of Marianne.”</p><p>“Oooh, she has a name,” Sophie sing-songs.</p><p>“Of course she has. Not the point.”</p><p>“I’m surprised I didn’t know it already, what with all the moaning that kept me awake,” she smirks. Then her face turns serious, and she looks at something – someone – behind you.</p><p>You turn around, and find yourself face-to-face with Marianne, looking a bit disoriented from just waking up. She’s adorable, blinking like an owl at the bright light in the hallway, and you only just manage to suppress the urge to ruffle her hair. Instead you remember your manners and somewhat redundantly introduce her to Sophie.</p><p>“Marianne, this is Sophie, my flatmate. Soph, this is Marianne..”</p><p>You know when you say the words that you are leaving a space open after Marianne’s name. A half-second of silence for something not quite there yet, that maybe will be, if things keep heading in the direction they are now.</p><p>“Hi. Nice to meet you.. um.. sorry for the other day.. night,” Marianne says, looking a little bit uncomfortable.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m over it, now I’m just thrilled that Hélo finally got some. It was about time,” Sophie replies with a cheshire cat-sized smile.</p><p>“Putain, Sophie?!”</p><p>“What? I have a point. Wait, you did actually do it at some point, right, because..”</p><p>Marianne starts to giggle, this helpless little sound that makes you feel all fuzzy inside, and hides her face in her hands.</p><p>“Sophie! S’il te plaît?!”</p><p>You give her your best murderous stare and move to the side so she can scurry off to her room, laughing to herself.</p><p>“I’m sorry about her,” you tell Marianne, briefly leaning your forehead on her shoulder. She’s still giggling.</p><p>“Don’t forget my food!” Sophie shouts just as the door to her room slams shut. You sigh and trudge over to the fridge, you did promise her after all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When the episode ends, the sky has turned a deep dark blue, and Sophie sits up from her spot on the other end of the couch, yawning and stretching before she gathers the tea mugs and takes them to the kitchen.</p><p>“It’s sunday tomorrow,” you tell Marianne, trying to not sound too hopeful.</p><p>“Mhm,” she nods against your shoulder.</p><p>“So.. stay the night?”</p><p>She lifts her head up to look at you. She doesn’t say anything, but the way she’s chewing on her lower lip, the open, defenseless look in her eyes speaks volumes.</p><p>“Héloïse, I swear to all available gods, if you guys keep me awake one more night you are buying me the fanciest fucking headphones in the known universe next time you get paid,” Sophie grumbles as she’s stomping off to the bathroom.</p><p>Marianne laughs and plants a kiss on your cheek.</p><p>“We can go 50/50 on the headphones?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp. There it is. Drop a comment if you feel like it.</p><p>(Also please let me know if there are any typos left, I've proofread it so many times it feels like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my skull.)</p><p>Bisous!<br/>/H</p></blockquote></div></div>
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